


Arm Wrestling over Westwood

by Scrange



Series: Holby City Spoof Scenes [4]
Category: Berena - Fandom
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 08:18:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8482267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrange/pseuds/Scrange
Summary: [one of a series of Holby City spoof scenes - all iconic dialogues (mostly between Bernie and Serena) which are hopefully recognisable. All are written keeping as closely as possible to the original, but with wildly, and generally ridiculously, divergent meanings. This one spoofs the arm wrestling scene in S18 E31, and was written as a response to the desperation at the degree of sapphic angst being experienced by the entire fandom during Bernie's absence - leading to the birth of Operation Serenity (lightening things up a bit, to keep ourselves going) some people start to call us a clan, and muse on adopting traditional Campbell or Wolfe scottish tartan - rather reminiscent of the Vivienne Westwood coat that Jemma Redgrave was recently photographed wearing, and which was then endlessly swooned over on Tumblr]Wherein Bernie and Serena are more than ready to jump each other’s bones, but discover, via a stray script, accidentally wedged somewhere rather unfortunate, that they’re going to have to wait the Whole.Damn.Summer. before they get to have anything more than scorching eyesex, suggestive quips about gherkins and an endless round of bloody innuendo. This absolutely will not do … so they hatch a cunning plan …





	

Bernie 

I can’t believe they expect us to restrain ourselves til episode 47! What do they think we are? Nuns by trade?

Serena 

Indeed, it seems they do. (*Thinks archly - Pah! I’ll be begging for raw, sweaty, unadulterated, vigorous passion by episode 39. How much more obvious can I be, FFS?*) Are you sure about that script?

Bernie 

Yep (*eyes flashing - is it with pride, or lust? Serena can’t quite tell.) But I’m a Redgrave, daaahhling. I grew up in the theatre. If there’s free space for Sapphic suggestion here, I can yank it out!

Serena

Just you, eh? Lesbian flirting sounds like a two-surgeon job to me. (*bristles slightly, in an I-might-not-have-been-outed-on-the-wards-yet-but-I-can-out-dyke-YOU-madam-any-day, sort of a way*)

Bernie

Just one, alluringly butch surgeon. I probably have the edge in that department. (*flexes bicep, moves to stand, and flashes a blindingly salacious smile in the direction of Serena… who is caught momentarily letting her eyes wander downwards to that … is that really a bulge in Bernie’s skinny jeans? Fucking hell! No! Is the woman packing???!*)

Serena

(*Really can’t help herself at this point. The phrase that will set screeching any and all WLW gaydar up and down the country, and indeed, the entire blogosphere, escapes from her over-excited lips*) Oh! Big Macho Army Medic, are we?

(*Give that woman a prize. What the hell? An unending supply of shiraz. She just made the fandom’s day, week, lifetime*).

Bernie

*warming to the topic* Shouldn’t that be Big Packing Macho Army Medic, come-top-me-now, Bernie Wolfe?

Serena

Ooh! We could draw some mighty fine tartan over that. Are you partial to bit a Vivienne Westwood slung over that delectable frame of yours, Ms Wolfe?

Bernie

(*Serena’s obviously been checking out the fandom’s photos again, snorts Bernie to herself. She has been sporting some particularly fetching tartans lately. Numerous bloggers have started referring to themselves as a ‘clan’, even musing about knitting their own Berena dolls wearing sporrans … *)

It has been known. Though I’m not sure they’ll be adding 'The Scottish Option’ to our choice of scrubs any time soon. And flirting about in a sporran won’t keep us going for another four months, you know!

(* a cunning look suddenly flashes across Serena’s somewhat flushed features, and placing her elbow square on the table, she wheels out her best eyebrow-twitching game, and beckons in a come-hither fashion with her pretty, soft hands. She’s clipped her fingernails short since the revelations of the last episode, Bernie notices with a quiet thrill*)

Serena

I know - here’s a way we can engage in aggressive hand-holding without alerting the writers’ suspicions … I’ll arm wrestle you here and now. Let’s tell them we’re competing for the best array of shirts on-set. You’ve trodden on my toes there big time, Ms Wolfe! We get to stare deep into each other’s eyes, and make the kind of sex noises that, let’s face it, are only ever going to happen over at AO3. We are before the 9pm watershed, after all.

Bernie

No! (*harrumphs, and then thinks what the hell, she may as well go for it, and lunges around the desk with a distinct swagger towards Serena’s outstretched hand - hey, the woman spotted her bulge, which she’d been saving as a surprise for later in the On Call room … so, with a certain bravado) Oh, alright then - It’s your funeral.

(The two women of a certain age - and a now-quite-certain persuasion, face each other and, after a brief finger dance signifying exactly what you’d think it does, grasp one another tightly, their eyes locking in shameless flirtation. How will the writers not notice, they wonder.

After a feigned show of resistance, Bernie allows Serena to slam her hand down onto the desk … and more surprisingly, under it, onto the Campbell thigh - though fortunately that was just out of camera shot … Stroking the Campbell trouser there, Bernie swears she can feel a mass of zips and lace underneath. Taking a furtive glance down there’s even - gasp - tartan!)

Bernie

Well, who’d’ve thought it?

Serena

Yes! *with evident satisfaction* - It’s not just you who loves a bit of Westwood. *Smirks* It’s not the cutting-edge surgeon in kinky fashion, you know, it’s the kinky surgeon in cutting-edge fashion.

(Her pager goes off) Oh sorry, Diva Magazine calling. Gotta go.

Bernie

*Aghast* Well, see you at Pride then, Serena Campbell.

Serena

*she sashays out - pausing just long enough to lean over Bernie’s shoulder, and whisper, hoarsely triumphant, in Bernie’s ear*

Yes, you can hold my hand.


End file.
